It was, therefore, not entirely unexpected that when Narayan’s first novel, Swami and His Friends, after several rounds of rejections, found its way to Graham Greene’s desk in 1934, he was utterly charmed by it. He went out of his way to secure a publisher for this unknown Indian and had it published in 1935. Greene remained Narayan’s admirer through his life. To quote him,"Since the death of Evelyn Waugh, Narayan is the novelist I most admire in the English language." The seductive charm of the illusionary town was so all-encompassing and the tableau of every day life so absorbing that Greene wrote,"Whom shall I meet next in Malgudi?That is the thought that comes to me when I close a novel of Mr Narayan’s....I don’t wait for another novel. I wait to go out of my door into those loved and shabby streets and see with excitement and a certainty of pleasure, a stranger approaching, past the bank, the cinema, the haircutting saloon, a stranger who will greet me I know with some unexpected and revealing phrase that will open a door on to yet another human experience."

Reporting her first foray into Narayan’s world, Susan Ram, his biographer wrote,"Through his little invented town far from the clamour and turbulence of metropolitan India, through his sad-comic portraiture and gentle, non-judgmental probing of human traits and fallibilities, Narayan seemed to dissolve a barrier of strangeness, rendering accessible to the distant reader the rhythms and intricacies of Indian life. Once entered, his fictional world clamoured for exploration and more intimate acquaintance."

Intimacy and compassion were, in fact, the hallmark of his work and his own personality. His stories and characters never suffer from a lack of kindly understanding on his part as they go about their business of life. Narayan narrates indulgently and understands intuitively the forces and pressures under which his small towners live and work. The travails of Raju the Guide do not leave unpleasantness behind. Similarly, the tragedy of The English Teacher and his attempts to regain balance are told in an unsentimental, yet moving, way. Through the entire body of his work, Narayan is non-judgmental and matter-of-fact in his story-telling. He, in a unique sort of a way, remains aloof even though he is intimately involved. The reason for this delicate balance is that Narayan drew heavily from his personal experience. Swami and His Friends, The English Teacher, Bachelor of Arts etc are clearly based on his own life. However, each of them have transcended his life and created a life of their own.

Narayan’s personal beliefs are also deeply embedded in his writings. Friendship was one of them and he attached great value to it. "I believe in it as a theme. Friendship, it is such a rare commodity. People come together for a purpose -- it lasts as long as some interest binds them, or motive. But just friendship by itself, people coming together without any purpose, that is an achievement. I value it. That is one thing I feel for, you know: we are so close at some point in our lives, and then we lose everything. It’s like spray, a spray of water -- it will just disappear."

Similarly, Narayan was among the rarest of rare writer as citizen. He told Susan Ram, during thecourse of an interview, "The author is both a spokesman of the community in which he lives and of himself. The problem is that absolute freedom of spirit matters most to a writer. He must be free from himself, even from his own previous standards, in order to be a good creative writer. At the same time, he is also a product of the society in which he lives and has to keep a tricky balance between the two. So I would say to be a good creative writer one needs to be combination, a perfect combination of the two." That Narayan could achieve this balance is evident from John Updike’s observation: "Faulkner was our last great example. An instinctive, respectful identification with the the people of one’s locale comes hard now," he said, and placed Narayan in a category of rareties --that of a vanishing breed-- the writer as citizen.

Narayan and Malgudi will live on as long as the art of story-telling survives. His utter lack of self- consciousness in throwing up rivetting internal worlds assure him of immortality. Narayan may be no more but his genius will intimately and comfortingly live on with generations to come.

RASIPURAM Krishnaswami Narayan has not passed away. He has simply changed address. From his earthly residence at Chennai, he has now moved on to his more 'permanent' abode at Malgudi. Even if million of his admirers here are distraught with the loss; how delighted must be Swami and friends, Nagaraj, Jagan, the sweet vendor, and so many of his unforgettable fictional characters — for whom, he may now perhaps change scripts, and their destined travails! Most relieved of all would surely be Raju, the guide, who may now be spared forced sainthood, starvation death and, he may, perhaps, end up with a happy reunion with his love, Rosie.

Though I never met the grand old man of Indo-Anglican writing, and one of the greatest English language writers of the last century in real life, I have been his die-hard fan for years; and a pen pal of sorts in a unique manner. My self-proclaimed friendship with the genius was 'real' and 'live' through letters, clippings of my pieces on him, and interaction through mediums like his close friend and biographer N. Ram and his equally illustrious brother R.K.Laxman.

My first encounter with Narayan was as a school boy, watching the film Guide made by Dev Anand. Though, a typical Bollywood movie, the fascinating character of Raju and his uncharacteristic death as a Hindi film hero, left a deep mark, evoking curiosity about its creator. And then followed the reading of RKN's books and a life-long addiction to his writings.

Malgudi, the writer's fictional town and literary landmark, became a virtual reality; with quaint denizens, ranging from tragic-comic characters to loveable rogues. They were such telling observations on the universal human nature that one saw them in different avatars lurking everywhere; even in the modern city of Chandigarh. If one went to the city lake, one came across storytellers, talkative men, financial experts, Bachelors of Arts — walking or gossiping beneath the famous peepul tree. On a misty day, one may even mistake the distant Shivaliks for Narayan's Mempi Hills — though, mercifully without any man-eaters or ruthless taxidermists like Vasu infesting the forests! Along the road to the bus stand can be seen astrologers, pickpockets, and near the Estate Office, petition writers and adjournment lawyers hang around. And the neighbourhood market is full of Regal Hair Cutting Saloons, painters of signs and vendors of sweets. Our neighbourhood school boys substitute for the naughty Swami and friends, breaking window panes with the same regularity and earning scoldings in return.

More than anyone else, in my own self, I notice shades of the dreamer-cum-idler Nagaraj living in his make-believe world, dreaming of making it big as a writer one day; but mostly idling away time sitting in the verandah (if not the South-Indian pyol) and usually getting nagged by the exasperated wife.

All this whetted a keen desire to know more about the creator of this imaginary mini-cosmos. Happily enough, there was rich material to read: his autobiography, My Days, his first-person account of stay in America, My Dateless Diary, and, of course, his most real-life inspired novel The English Teacher. Fortunately, there was also the most exhaustive and comprehensive biography of the great writer by N. Ram, Editor, Frontline, and co-authored by Susan Ram. This was godsend for Narayan fans the world over. It also had rare photographs of him, ranging from childhood to marriage, along with his large joint family. Of great interest were the copies of his correspondence with Graham Greene— his literary guide, friend and mentor.

In the 1980s also came along the famous teleserial Malgudi Days by Shanker Nag, based on Narayan's stories. His famous cartoonist brother R.K.Laxman's illustrations infused visual life and breath into this fiction. My longing to somehow connect with the literary idol became very intense. Something had to be done. But it was not a simple matter of taking the next flight to Chennai and sitting outside the gate of his house till the great writer gave darshan — though as a flight of fancy, it was not quite ruled out. I did not wish to be an unwanted intruder and a nuisance to the old, reclusive writer, who now fully deserved his privacy.

In my obsessive pursuit of Narayan, I created an opportunity for myself. After publishing a light-hearted middle piece on Malgudi's imaginary map, I sent a copy to Laxman, mailed with a prayer on the wings of hope that the great man might, perchance, see it. For days, nothing happened and the postman did not knock! I consoled myself with the thought that this was as expected; as I had read in an interview that the reclusive author did not acknowledge any fan-mail, and, perhaps, most of it ended in the garbage bin! It was a bit heart-breaking to think that the creator of such gentle, tragic-comic characters could also be so indifferent! But then, if one had written more than 34 novels, 200 essays and short-stories, given thousands of media interviews and crossed the age of 90 — such remoteness could be well understood.

However, one day I received a small note from N.Ram enclosing an autographed copy of the piece by Narayan, inscribed, "With best wishes for professor Raj… " signed RKN! And then followed another lucky break. Last year, when he was conferred the Padma Vibhushan on Republic Day, I was inspired to publish an imaginary open letter to him penned by the residents of Malgudi, inviting him attend a function being organised by them to felicitate him on the honour bestowed on him. I left it that, but secretly hoped, that the piece might perhaps catch Narayan's eye. A few days later when I returned home from work, our cook said some 'Mr.Laksm… ' from Mumbai had been ringing up and had also left his phone number! I was flushed with excitement, for here was RKN’s celebrity brother reaching out to me. I immediately returned the call and spent some of the most cherished moments of my life on the phone listening to his kind appreciation of the piece. Some more literary bounty was to flow my way. Soon a letter followed from N.Ram, on behalf of Narayan, conveying his appreciation along with an autographed copy dated March 23, 2000. Where have I stored these precious family treasures is a closely guarded secret! They will be passed on only as family heirlooms.

Some months later, it dawned on me that on October 10, 2000, Narayan would complete 94 years, an occasion warranting a special coverage. Hoping against hope, I sent an e-mail to N.Ram requesting for a possible interview with RKN. Prompt came a polite NO; quoting Narayan, "Haven't I given enough interviews for a lifetime." But as a gentle sop, Ram did promise any other help by way of material on Narayan. After the initial dejection on not having pulled a miracle, The Tribune magazine editor and I decided to go ahead with a profile of RKN on the event, along with a response from Ram. And thereby started another high-drama adventure of meeting deadlines and getting the material from Ram.

The ball for the 'b'day special' was set rolling with everything else falling in place — but for the delay in Ram's response! At last, after repeated e-mails and phone calls, he spared time from his own deadlines, burnt the midnight oil and e-mailed the entire interview along with some rare pictures of RKN — just a day before it was to go to the press. The intensity and excellence of his interview made up for all the missed hearbeats and glitches. We finally had the satisfaction of putting together a befitting b'day feature for the literary genius. And the icing on the cake was — Ram,who was in the USA at the time of publication of the feature, saw it on the Tribune's Internet edition and e-mailed, "Neat work, Professor." He also conveyed RKN’s compliments to The Tribune magazine staff for putting together such an "excellent" feature.

Later, on returning to India, he sent us a special gift — a latest picture of Narayan, taken on his digital camera. These fond remembrances of R.K.Narayan somewhat help in mitigating the pain of losing him. But a lingering remorse will be that I never got to meet the man whom I admired so much. Another lament is that even at this age — as confided by N.Ram — Narayan had worked out the full concept and plot for a new novel.

But both Malgudi and its maker live on… And as N.Ram says, "He will be read even a hundred years from now." There are no last words on such maestros.